


All He Does Is Watch

by leopardgecko



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: I will edit this later, M/M, Other Characters Are Mentioned, also if theres any mistakes, it is time to slumber, its mostly dolokhov and anatole, show me mercy b/c i am TIRED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-02-07 17:30:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21461848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leopardgecko/pseuds/leopardgecko
Summary: Dolokhov was a watcher.Anatole wasn't.(What Dolokhov went through throughout Great Comet).
Relationships: Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin/Natalya "Natasha" Ilyinichna Rostova, Fyodor "Fedya" Ivanovich Dolokhov/Anatole Vasilyevich Kuragin, Kinda - Relationship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	All He Does Is Watch

Dolokhov watched. It’s all he’s ever done. He stands by whoever he chooses and watches the world pass by him. Everyone knew this, except Anatole himself.

Anatole dragged attention to him. Every room he walks in, eyes turn to him and his gleaming smile. Everyone knew this, except Anatole himself. 

To Dolokhov, Anatole was a deity who had no brains. But that was okay, he was fine with Anatole bringing up stupid questions and statements and having to answer them with a sigh. Anatole took joy from Dolokhov’s presence but it didn’t seem like that to him. 

Every woman Anatole would bring home stabs a dagger through Dolokhov’s heart. But, of course, he would never say that for he was afraid of losing their close bond. Anatole didn’t understand why Dolokhov would seem cold to him after the woman left. He never understands. 

The night Anatole, his sister, and Dolokhov went to an opera would forever taunt Dolokhov. That beautiful young girl, Natasha, was another perfect target for Anatole’s games. The whole night Anatole whispered in Dolokhov’s ears about the girl above them. Dolokhov brushed it off with a huff, assuming it was another one of his silly crushes that he’d get over in a week. 

But he was wrong. Oh so very wrong.

After the boring opera, Anatole got the bright idea to go out for drinks. Dolokhov agreed. Pierre was dragged along. Pierre was a sad man who Dolokhov wasn’t very fond of. No, Pierre hadn’t done anything, it was his very existence that made Dolokhov hesitant.

The rest of the night was a blur. Dolokhov watched Anatole gracefully move around the club with his signature look. Dolokhov was grabbing Helene by the waist, trying to take his attention away from the god in front of him. Pierre angrily yelled something, face red. Then, a duel.

Pierre somehow shot Dolokhov. Beginners luck, Dolokhov thought. All he saw was red as pain shot through his arm. He raised his gun with a shaking hand and…. Missed. The bullet whizzed past Pierre. And then he collapsed. His last sight was Anatole over his head with a worried look. 

He woke up in a bed. His arm was throbbing and so was his head. Bandages wrapped around his injured arm like a snake. There was a faint circle of red, a cruel reminder of what happened the night before. Dolokhov looked around the room and spotted a figure. Anatole. The blond looked tired as he slouched in a chair. He must’ve waited for Dolokhov to wake up.

Dolokhov cleared his throat, making Anatole shoot up. Their eyes met. Blue and gray. Dolokhov felt his heart skip a beat and his face grow pink. Anatole’s confused and bleary look turned into happiness and relief when he saw Dolokhov. He walked over with a gentle smile and sat on the side of his bed.  
A week later, Anatole strode into Dolokhov’s room with a pen and a paper. He set the paper in Dolokhov’s hands and told him to write a love letter for his dearest Natalie. Dolokhov obliged, mood darkening by the second. Anatole left with a wave. 

He wrote the letter with a scowl and at the end, signed it with Anatole’s name. Somewhere deep in his heart, Dolokhov wished he could sign the letter off with ‘Fedya Dolokhov’ and pretend the note was all for Anatole. An hour went by and Anatole came back, a wide grin on his face. He thanked Dolokhov and gave him a peck on the cheek. A friendly peck, sure, but Dolokhov treasured that short moment. 

Dolokhov’s arm healed completely not long after the letter was sent to Natasha. Anatole came to Dolokhov and gave an announcement that he and this poor girl were eloping. Dolokhov recoiled. There was a date and a plan made shortly after. There, Dolokhov almost lost it. He yelled at Anatole, calling him stupid and impulsive. The only time Dolokhov stopped watching from the sidelines, Anatole ignored him. The two bickered until Anatole gave up and said that Balaga was arriving soon and that he needed to get ready.

For the first time in years, as Anatole left with a growl, Dolokhov cried. He cried for Anatole. He cried for Natasha and her legacy. He cried for himself, wishing he had the chance to be the one to love Anatole. He cried for his failed wishes. 

Dolokhov fixed himself up as he heard Anatole’s boots clack against the stairs. They made their way out into the howling winds of Moscow, ready for Natasha’s abduction. He watched as Anatole scurried up the steps of Natasha’s home. He watched as the doors flung open to an angry Marya. And he watched as Anatole darted away with a horrified yelp, feet skipping some steps. 

Anatole ran past Dolokhov and then they jumped into Balaga’s troika. The horses were whipped and off they went, leaving Marya to lecture Natasha. Even Dolokhov’s attempts at comforting the prince didn’t stifle his heartbroken cries and whimpers. Dolokhov stared out the window as he rubbed Anatole’s shaking back.

He told the blond that it’ll be okay and he’ll be fine. Anatole sighed and pressed his face into Dolokhov’s chest, looking for more comfort. Dolokhov blushed, not used to the sudden attention. But everything wouldn’t be okay. Pierre confronted Anatole.

Pierre grabbed the boy’s throat, taking away Anatole’s power he once had. The man who Dolokhov had suspicions of wrecked his god. Pierre banished the blond to Petersburg and said that if he dared to show his face again in Moscow, he would come to kill him. 

Anatole was to leave the same day. And so he did. Anatole ran off to Petersburg, Dolokhov following him. 

All Dolokhov did was watch. He stood by Anatole until his last dying breaths. He cradled the boy he loved in his arms as he died. Dolokhov loved Anatole throughout everything. He watched. He always watched.


End file.
